“Stop calling himthe pigeon. You know his name, Gio. Everyone deserves good food, no? He’s a happy pigeon. A family pigeon.”
Giovanni runs his hand through his thick hair. “If you keep feeding it, it will continue to expect it!”
Roberto straightens to find Giovanni and faces him with a smile. His blue eyes, which are just a shade darker than his son’s, twinkle. “Exactly, Tesoro. Giuseppe expects it. It’s too late.”
My shoulders shake with silent laughter. Whoarethese lovely people? And how did their delightful personalities produce such a surly Giovanni?
Roberto holds out his arms and Giovanni walks straight into them, clapping his dad on the back and burying his head into his shoulders.
“My son… We don’t see you enough,” Roberto says, emotion thick in his voice. Pulling back for a moment, he finds me and smiles. “E la tua ragazza… ma quanto sei bella.”
Roberto opens his arms in my direction. Following Giovanni’s lead, I happily walk into them and get wrapped up in a tight hug. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be hugged by an actual father. I close my eyes for a moment and soak up the strength of his affection. My mom’s love and dedication was enough for two—maybe three—parents. But Giovanni’s still lucky to have both.
Roberto loosens his hold on me, and I step back toward Giovanni.
They start discussing repairs needed around the house, Roberto pointing to the cracked stone pathway and a broken window shutter. Maria walks toward the kitchen, and I trail behind her.
“I’d love to help you with dinner,” I offer. “I’m not the best cook, but I’m very good at following instructions.”
“Ah, but guests shouldn’t put in any work.” She gives me a warm smile.
“Hey—I thought I was ‘family,’” I tease.
The brilliant light of her smile is all the answer I need. “Come, then, we have many things to do.”
I move to hurry after her, but feel a tug on my hand pulling me back. I spin around toward Giovanni.
“I have to fix a leak in the bathroom. Are you going to be okay?” Concern laces his voice, like I can’t be trusted with his mother.
“If you’re worried about me embarrassing you or something, don’t be,” I whisper, tilting my chin up.
Giovanni says nothing in response, but his brows knit together in an expression I can’t quite place.Fine, I think. The less I have to pretend to be in love with him in front of his parents, the better.
After a long sigh, he walks back toward his dad.
Following the delicious, savory aroma that saturates the air, I join Maria next to the stove. She’s stirring something that smells absolutely incredible and hands me a head of lettuce with her free hand. “You can help me with the salad. Tear the leaves, and put them in this bowl. We can make the vinaigrette together after we’re done with the vegetables.”
“That sounds great. Salads, I can do.”
“Gio tells us you’re a talented fashion designer.” She smiles. “He loves to brag about you. It’s very sweet.”
I have to actively purse my lips to prevent a jaw drop. He must’ve really been selling her our relationship over the past few weeks.
I set the head of lettuce down. “Oh, um, I don’t know aboutwonderful. I’m actually just a junior designer at the house where he’s contracted. Nothing special.”
Her eyebrows knit together as she grabs an onion. “I wouldn’t say that… He tells us you’re a better designer than Lamont. That you should be the head of the brand.”
“Well.” I clear my throat. “That’s very kind of him.”
“That’s our Gio. We miss him, of course, but it’s so lovely that he’s continuing his nonno’s legacy. Roberto’s father alwayswanted to take Italian couture tailoring to the states, but his mamma fell ill and derailed those plans.” She dices the onion, tossing it in the pot. “In a way, I’m lucky he didn’t go, or else they might not have settled in Brescia. This house has been in their family for generations. And we love it here.”
I nod in agreement, resuming my lettuce duties. “The countryside seems like a wonderful place to raise a family—so much space.”
“Fresh air, fresh food. Not too bad of a spot for bambini, either.”
I drop the head of lettuce on the cutting board at the mention of family planning. A picture of my dying apartment succulents flashes in my mind. I can’t even keep aplantalive, never mind the fact that this entire relationship is a ruse. I don’t have time or space to spiral right now, though, so I shove the suggestion of little Giovannis to the back of my mind and breathe in through my nose. Thankfully, Maria’s too preoccupied stirring the pot in more ways than one to notice my freak-out.
Maria and I both startle at the sound of a metallicclang, followed by a string of angry-forward Italian down the hallway. In Giovanni’s fight to fix the leak, I’m pretty sure the bathroom sink is winning.
